


angel in white

by Hikari_C



Series: doctrines of time and god [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Betrayal, Blind Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Character Death, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Cottagecore, Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Family Dynamics, Fluff, Gen, George is a good friend, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), It Gets Worse, Kingdoms, Loneliness, Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Lowercase, M/M, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), They all need hugs, Tragedy, lapslock, so is Sapnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikari_C/pseuds/Hikari_C
Summary: there is an angel in white.ask him for what is right;ask him for the bells to chime.there is an angel in white.ask him for a gentle light;ask him for a little more time.—once, he was a god. once, he was a king. once, he was a scribe.once, he was loved.once, he lived.or: the tales of a deity, who lived and rose and fell and broke, and how it all came to be.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Corpse Husband (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot
Series: doctrines of time and god [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143581
Comments: 42
Kudos: 302
Collections: dream-centric discord comp.





	1. i. once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

> Discord Name: Hikari  
> Theme: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort  
> First Round: Blind & Broken Dream  
> TW: violence, arson, character death, voices, manipulation  
> —
> 
> one chooses to believe. the other chooses to trust.
> 
> they all choose to forgive.

**angel in white**

_there is an angel in white._

_ask him for what is right;_

_ask him for the bells to chime._

_there is an angel in white._

_ask him for a gentle light;_

_ask him for a little more time._

* * *

_i_.

once upon a time

“he dreamed

of a tall forest,

of green blossoms,

of a hymn’s chorus.”

* * *

let me tell you a story. it is not a fairy tale, one ending in happily ever after. it is a tale of loss and gain, of deceit and circumstance, of woe and pleasure. it is a tale that begins and ends with time.

let us start with an angel in white.

* * *

an angel lives within the trees and leaves. he dwells within the foliage, within the plants and weeds that grow with his every step. he lives in a forest of beautifully blossomed flowers and fruits, of harmony and peace in nature.

this angel lives apart from mortals. he has his sanctuary atop a mountain, where the heavens and the earth meet and collide. he lives among the clouds, cloaking him in their embrace. he lives among the birds and bugs and animals, singing him songs and hymns to his name.

offerings and praises are offered at the bottom of the mountain. mortals see the land as holy, with its serene clouds and majestic nature. they give woven cloths and braided jewelry. they dance to music unheard and speak stories untold. they bow before their deity and guardian and swears their lives into worshipping him.

the angel watches them all with a keen eye. he watches their rituals and dances, watches as they carve figures and statues in his name. he watches as they proclaim him to be the best, laughing and singing in melodic tunes.

he watches and he gives. he brings rain in droughts and gentle snow in winter. he casts fertile land into their farms and brings their crops to blossom. he shields them from storms and thunder, from earthquakes and tornadoes. he shields them from the harshness reality has to offer.

generations after generations pass, their faith weakening with every year. it is the curse of time, the angel learns. offerings turn scarce and praises are whispered within thick walls. dances cease to be and carved figures and ornaments are thrown into rivers.

the angel knows of their wrongdoings. knows of their discrimination against those who believe, knows of his followers’ suffering. he knows of the tension that explodes into a war. he knows of the blood on their hands, the blood of the ones he considers his children.

they set fire into the trees and plants and flowers. they hunt down the snowy white birds and creatures. they steal fruits and flowers of he painstakingly grew. they destroy the homes of the creatures that dwell peacefully in the woods. they barge into his abode, his home, screaming for him to come out.

they proclaim that he is nothing but an imaginary figure, told by their superstitious ancestors and fame-seeking storytellers. they denounce him and all those who believe.

they demand more from him in exchange for their faith. give us, they say, and we’ll believe.

but the angel knows. he learns.

they want more, crave more, and sought to destroy the earth for their own.

* * *

“hi! i’m sapnap, what’s your name?”

hearst _._

_“why are you always practicing?”_

_“because i wanna be a knight! they’re cool and they protect people, too.”_

_“i see.”_

_“yep! that’s my—”_

aldwin.

_“you’re writing again?”_

_“mhm-mm. sorry if it bothers you.”_

_“no, it’s fine. what’re you writing about?”_

_“i... i want to let people know the truth.”_

_“i want to be someone who helps make the world peaceful. it’s weird, but this is my—”_

cornelius—

_“don’t mind me! i’ve always wanted to do this, y’know!”_

_“this has always been my—”_

“...dream.”

“cool! do you want to play?”

“...okay.”

* * *

dream smp is a vast land, stretching out far and wide. it encompasses plains, mountains and valleys, with buildings present on every horizon. it is one of the few lands that doesn’t have an established government, but rather a watcher and a guide. it keeps to itself, although its lands are partly open, and rarely interacts with foreign parties.

the dream smp is a vast land— and a home.

dream smp is the land dream carved for himself and his family. it is the land he created when he left with george and sapnap in tow, when he left with his friends to start anew. it is the land that he meant to be a solace, to be a home that one could return to after a bad day.

there was a bit of debate regarding its name; george went for something more respectful, sapnap went for something ridiculous, and bad went for something appropriate. in the end, it was unanimously decided that the land should be named after dream— he was the one who made it, after all.

( _he still hears george and sapnap’s lighthearted arguing in his mind. he still hears bad’s admonishments and screams that rise in intensity with every curse thrown. he still hears his own laughter, strange as it is; he still hears himself wheezing even though he can’t remember the last time he smiled._ )

they lived there, hoarding their items into chests. they often hunted each other, playing manhunt and many more games. they trained, sparred and bickered with each other. they farmed crops and watered flowers and built houses. they laughed and smiled and _oh god what wouldn’t he do to live like that again_ —

* * *

dream hums, sitting down on the branch of the tree, letting the peace settle over him. the wind is just a breeze, neither warm or cold, evening his temperature. the wind passes through the leaves, not really managing to brush away the hood off of his head. he lets out a quiet laugh, content to spend his afternoon like this.

footsteps tell him that his rather peaceful afternoon will be disrupted. he tilts his head to where he hears it, sensing george’s breathing as the other sits underneath the tree dream’s staying on. while the other doesn’t exhibit it much, george is pretty observant, so dream doubts he can surprise the other.

“tommy stole something again,” george sighs underneath him, plopping on the ground tiredly. “everything’s been chaotic ever since you accepted him.”

he chuckles behind his mask, his ears picking up the rustling of the grass. george is picking away at it, he realizes, like he always does whenever he’s stressed. he hums for a while, before responding. “it makes everything a bit more exciting. isn’t that good?”

george glares at him through white-rimmed glasses. dream can just feel the burning gaze, and he stifles his laughter. “it’d be good if that excitement doesn’t involve tens of reports from annoyed citizens, stolen goods, and burnt down farms. i’ve never wanted to hit someone so bad.”

dream loses his control in a few seconds, laughing and wheezing, his hand cramping down on his stomach. he sways dangerously on the branch, but he has enough agility and sense of balance to not fall off. he wipes metaphorical tears from his eyes, dodging george’s sudden strike at the branch. it’s half-hearted, that he knows; if george truly wanted to attack, he’d unsheathe his diamond sword in a single blink, instead of the stone one he’s using.

dream lands on the ground gracefully, unsheathing his own stone sword. as they dodge and lunge at each other with a rhythm, he doesn’t miss the way george’s eyes burn at him, how his strikes carry a force. dream contemplates, before twisting george’s sword out of the other’s grasp. he feels a sense of satisfaction as george falls to the ground with a soft thump.

“yield?” he asks, just for the sake of formality. he’s sheathing his own blade by then, tucking it into his belt.

there is a sigh on george’s end, but the other affirms it. dream twists slightly, walking over to where he hears the sword land, bending over to pick it up. he throws it back at george, and the lack of a yelp ensures dream that the man has caught it.

“what’s wrong?” dream asks, almost immediately, as soon as they settle on the meadows. “you sound different.”

george sighs, leaning back. “have you heard of the new one?”

dream blinks, thankful, not for the first time, that the mask hides his face. “you mean wilbur?”

“yeah,” george exhales, “he just started a drug caravan three days ago. i’m just worried.”

dream can feel the anxiety rolling out of the other in waves, the other shuffling in his position. he wraps an arm around george, sensing the other relax into his hold, and smiles behind his mask.

“i’ll talk to him later,” he promises, “in the meantime, let’s just take a break, okay?”

“okay,” george says, and even though his eyes are closed, he knows that his best friend is smiling.

* * *

“tommy!”

the boy in question cackles in glee, running away with a guitar in hand. he’s yelling, rushing by to escape wilbur. they’re in a chase, knocking over things and messing with the earth unintentionally. it ends as wilbur exclaims in success, retrieving his guitar back and decking tommy lightheartedly for the trouble.

“how is it that you’re becoming more and more troublesome as you get older?” wilbur jokes, laughing as the boy screeches when a hand ruffles his hair. “are you aging backwards?”

“fuck off, old man!” tommy shouts, screeching again as wilbur puts him on a firm but not painful hold.

dream steps to their direction, his hands fiddling with his hoodie. it’s green, according to sapnap, a hideous neon green. he still remembers the horror when he wore a mix of neon pink and green together, george and sapnap proclaiming that the outfit was killing their eyes.

“hello,” he greets the two brothers. wilbur’s hold loosens to greet him back properly, and tommy takes the oppurtunity to run away. he hears the older one snort and laugh in fond exasperation, letting the other go and cause chaos to his heart’s content.

“i hope he hasn’t been that much of a trouble,” wilbur says, half-jokingly and half-seriously. he lets out a half-hearted sigh as tommy’s screams ring in the background, shouting profanities and curses that dream’s slightly amazed to hear. “he doesn’t have an off button, i’m afraid.”

“to be fair,” dream says, feeling the need to crack a joke, “i’d be worried if he has one.”

wilbur laughs lightly. “true, true,” he chortles, “he’s always been like that since he was a child. frankly, it scares me when he stays quiet for even a second.”

“i can see that,” dream says, imaging the scenario, “but does he... well, does he ever shut up?”

the other pauses, as if contemplating and rummaging through his memories. “...no,” wilbur says finally, “even if he’s eating, he’s still loud. he snores loudly too, when he sleeps. there’s no escaping him.”

dream laughs, wheezing when he does so. it’s easy to laugh these days, in such a comfortable environment with familiar people. it almost surprises him that he thinks like that, especially after what had occurred years ago.

“by the way,” dream feels the hand outstretched for a handshake. “i’m wilbur.”

( _ ~~i~~ ’_m _**w** il_ **l** _—_ )

“dream,” he returns, shaking the other’s hand.

he hears the noise of wonder and surprise. “oh?” wilbur says, “this land’s owner?”

“more like babysitter, but yes.”

wilbur laughs at that, the answer apparently unexpected. “gods,” he says, “i don’t think i’ve ever laughed li—”

( _i_ _**d**_ ~~o~~ _n_ **h** _ik i’ **v**_ e _vr l_ **au** _gh_ e _ ~~d~~ li _t _hi_ **s** _ ~~b~~ e **f**_ **r** _e_ )

“bitch!” tommy yells, his voice reaching a loudness unknown to humanity. dream’s almost impressed, if he hadn’t heard sapnap’s voice yelling back.

wilbur sighs near him, and calls out, “tommy!”

“what the hell do you want?!”

“some peace and quiet,” wilbur grumbles under his breath. he turns to dream, and with something similar to regret coating his tone, he says, “i guess i’ll have to go now, before tommy blows something up.”

“oh,” dream says intelligently, his keen hearing catching up george’s and bad’s voice. “i have to go, too. please take care of the child, he’s making my friend nearly snap.”

“sure,” wilbur agrees, “please ask your friend to not kill tommy too. although you’re free to punch him, because i’m not allowed to.”

dream snorts, pushing down the bitterness rising in his chest.

“see you soon, dream.”

( _pain hurt pain hurt no please don’t leave me please_ )

dream’s breath catches in his throat. he stays still, as if frozen, as wilbur leaves with tommy in tow.

( _why why why why i don’t want to be alone_ )

“are you okay, dream?” sapnap questions, halfway through the hill, “you look tense.”

“it’s just nerves,” he chuckles, brushing the matter off. “i may or may not have drunk three cups of coffee earlier.”

“what?” he hears bad ask, the other’s tone reaching a pitch. “dream!”

“i didn’t realize!” he protests, “you know how i can be when i’m playing.”

he hears bad’s disgruntled mumbles and the chuckles coming from both george and sapnap. he sighs, trying to shake off the paranoia of something that is horribly wrong.

sapnap’s yelling. he snorts, thankful for the mask hiding his expressions from view, and falls in line with his best friends.

( _you thought i was gone i’ll never leave i’ll always be with you_ )

( _i’m the only one here for you i’m the only one who’ll stay_ )

( _you can’t get rid of me_ )

( _i will always be here_ )

* * *

humans always desire more.

they always want more.

they always want to be on top.

they always want to win.

they always want to be above.

( _greedy always so greedy they want more more more more_ )

( _humans always want more_ )

when dream stands against wilbur and his newly declared independent nation, he feels the desire hidden beneath flesh and smiles; he feels the steady thrum of _more more more_.

by then, he knows.

humans always want more.

* * *

the first lesson the angel learns is greed.

* * *

they have to be stopped, that the angel knows. the screams and wails of agony reverberate in his ears, the pleas of the creatures and plants he created filling his mind. the clouds dissipate into thin air, unwilling to stay in the face of destruction.

the angel leaves. he leaves and brings his blessings away from the land he once called his own. he leaves and takes away the fertile soil and blossoming fruits; he removes the protection and shield he bestowed upon this land and its people. he leaves them in the face of chaos, of droughts and storms and harsh winters.

he steps foot below the mountain. he stays atop the rivers, floating above the crystal clear waters. he watches as carved totems rush by, taken away by the currents.

he takes one into his hands. it is of jade, of beautiful white and skilled craftsmanship. his figure is flowing and detailed, jewels engraved on his hair and clothes.

he thinks back, thinks of the old times. he thinks of the ancestors of these non-believers. he thinks of their sincere worship and gentle laughter. thinks of whether they would want their tribe to fall.

he takes the totem and lets it turn into a necklace. he looks back at the once peaceful land, now chaotic and turned into a war-torn pit by power-hungry mortals. there is no need for him to interfere. there is no need for him to help.

but when he turns, he sees them suffering in famine and starvation. he sees them drown in the depths of poverty, the luster of their eyes dimming. he sees them fight each other for scraps, unused to the sudden harshness and difficulties.

he wears the necklace, the jade thrumming against his chest. he waves a hand, watching as a tree rises until it reaches the skies, golden leaves fluttering below. he watches as the tree produces fruit, and feels the gratefulness of the mortals that now learned. yet he looks away, his belief already shaken.

“live peacefully now,” he says, quietly, softly. the wind carries his whispers, brushing through the grass, dried crops, and the awestruck gazes of mortals. “forgive and understand.”

* * *

there are padded footsteps behind him. the rhythm, matching the pitter-patter of the rain, nearly lulls him to sleep as he curls into the couch beside the fireplace. even so, alertness seizes his mind as he registers the sound of glass agains wood. he blinks the grogginess away, setting down his cup of cocoa on a table nearby.

“george?” he calls, surprised, the aforementioned man humming softly as a greeting. he carries a cup in his hands, steam blurring the glass. the other’s hands are shaking slightly, the glass trembling in his hold. gently, dream takes it into his own, enclasping george’s hands too.

the man moves closer to him, letting himself be fully embraced. they stay like that for a moment, watching as the flames crackle and the shadows dance according to the light, the mood torn between somberness and comfort.

george doesn’t speak, but he’s still leaning into the warmth. dream hums a song, letting the melody soothe the other’s anxiety away. it’s effective, evidenced by how the tension in george’s shoulders slowly disappear and relax.

“i feel guilty,” george admits quietly, over the sound of the flames. “tommy and tubbo are only what... fifteen? they’re children by all means, they... they shouldn’t be part of this war.”

“they shouldn’t be,” dream agrees, “and that’s why we have to end this before it escalates.”

george stays quiet for a moment, raising his head. “...there’s no other choice, isn’t there?” he asks, slowly, like he’s afraid and hesitant to continue. “is a war really the... the only solution?”

silence echoes, both dangerous and deadly, in the room. george is squirming, attempting to escape the embrace, increasingly growing uncomfortable. dream doesn’t let him.

“we’ll give them their nation,” he says, his voice sounding so odd, even to himself. “but they have to learn to be satisfied with what they have.”

“...okay,” george breathes out, not sounding truly convinced but he still believes. he still chooses to believe. “okay, dream.”

* * *

george was a noble. he was born from a lord and lady of two wealthy houses, a marriage brought by convenience. they had him for the sake of politics and social status, for bargaining and formalities.

he’d been pampered as a child, his every need attended to by servants. he’d been gifted lessons in every area, from poetry to swordsmanship and etiquette to archery. he was allowed to do anything he wanted; the only expectations set for him were his presence at social meetings and galas.

his childhood made him soft, in all the good places. it had him in a thirst for learning, for what was outside the finely chiseled walls; it had him in an insatiable curiosity of what was beyond. his childhood allowed him to hold a good heart and a generous mind, as well as a soft-spoken demeanor and a political mindset.

he met dream and sapnap at the age of eleven, in the midst of running away. his parents never seemed to cared, too busy and caught up in their drama and ambitions. as such, george left, hoping to earn some of their attention, anything that told him that they cared.

there never was.

six years later, when they were beginning to plan and build the dream smp, a reminder came. there was a letter addressed to him, written in elegant calligraphy. there was a wax seal on the envelope, the symbol of his family.

it didn’t contain “i missed you” or “i’m sorry”. there wasn’t even a plea for him to come back, or a question of what he was doing on all the years he’d been away. it was just a letter written to inform him of his father’s untimely demise, and his cousin’s ascension as head of the family.

george burned the letter. in the quiet of a night, he watched as the flames sparked and crackled, dancing to the rhythm of the wind. dream had sat down next to him, offering what comfort he can give, staying silent as to let the other think and reflect.

“do you forgive them?” dream asked, years later.

“they tried their best,” george whispered, his hands clenched, “they raised me. they gave me my needs. for all their mistakes and shortcomings, i choose to forgive them. and forget.”

* * *

sapnap's sitting by the docks, his feet making splashing noises. the water moves and ripples according to the direction of his movements. at times, he kicks at it hard enough to make a large splash, seeming to quell a hidden emotion underneath.

“sapnap?”

sapnap inclines his head in greeting, his actions obviously indicating his inner turmoil. he continues kicking his legs, watching with light satisfaction as the water splashes and makes a mess all around. soon enough, he grows tired of doing so and chooses to throw rocks at the river instead.

“is something in your mind?” dream asks, carefully maneuvering himself to sit beside sapnap. they’re still for a second, just watching the rocks skip over the water before falling, sinking down into the river.

“what is this war even for?” sapnap asks suddenly, sounding so broken and it stabs through dream like a particularly sharp knife. “what are we hurting them for?”

he lashes out, flames suddenly appearing and dissipating with the water. “we’re just playing with them. we’re just asserting our fucking dominance for the sake of it, we’re just hurting them for fucking nothing!”

“we’re not,” dream says, his voice a bit louder than he intended. at sapnap’s shocked silence, he winces and backtracks. “we’re not.”

“seems like the opposite,” sapnap mutters, a bit bitterly.

“i can’t tell you yet,” dream presses on, feeling like every word he says sounds fake. “but i... i just need you to trust me.”

“i know you have your reasons,” sapnap eventually speaks up, and his voice is just strange, “but sometimes i can’t help but ask why.”

“i just don’t want us to get hurt,” dream admits, turning his face and mask away. he doesn’t know if he can face his best friend and not say anything. he doesn’t know if he can face him and not—

( _vengeance hurt pain no no no_ )

“us?” sapnap echoes.

“us,” he says quietly, “us. all of us.”

sapnap watches him keenly, searching for something in dream’s body language. dream doesn’t know if the other sees what he’s searching for, but the hybrid sighs and wraps an arm around dream.

“alright then,” he says, with obviously forced cheer. he chooses to trust. “alright.”

* * *

sapnap was an outcast, purely for his hybrid blood. his mother had been a blaze hybrid, and his father human; for cases like these, it was normal for the child to obtain less of the hybrid parent’s abilities and inherent desires. that wasn’t the case for him, however.

sapnap was a beloved child, that much was certain. his parents adored him, tended to him, even though they had little and faced discrimination at every turn. his childhood ended when his parents were murdered by hybrid hunters, those that hunted the “different”, and only spared him because of his age.

since then, he grew rough and fought for survival; his survival instincts aren’t as clear as they were during their first meeting, but they were visible in his actions. they were visible in how he carefully rationed food and saved leftovers, in how he kept a weapon near him at all times, in how he was guarded in front of strangers and newcomers.

it all came crashing down in front of three hunters— the same ones that killed his family. it was obvious that the hunters were no match for them, evidenced by the beating they took. in the face of death, they begged and pleaded, not for their lives, but the lives of their family.

“did you show that mercy to my family?” sapnap had asked, “answer me!” he screamed, his sword pointed at the others neck.

“no,” the hunter choked out, “i didn’t. i’m sorry.”

then there was a sword buried into the ground, and the sound of footsteps rushing away. dream had followed, watching with worried eyes as the other burned and scorched the earth. he waited until the other was in a calmer mindset, slumping over tiredly

“do you forgive them?”

“i don’t,” sapnap said harshly, blinking back unshed tears. “i don’t think i can ever forgive them but— but i don’t want anyone to go through what i had gone. i don’t want their children to feel the loss of their parents.”

dream supported him back then, waiting for him to calm down. when sapnap calmed, his form was brimming with determination. dream knew that the other had made his decision.

“i don’t forgive them,” sapnap whispered, all energy sapped out of him, “but i will try.”

* * *

the second lesson the angel learns is forgiveness.

* * *

> to: dream smp citizens
> 
> l’manberg cordially invites you to the independence feast on the tenth of august. this is to form a stronger connections, as two nations staying on the same land, and to establish the peace treaty between us. we, as a whole, understand of the complications of our previous interactions, and will not ask if you do not deign to accept.
> 
> there will be no weapons or armor allowed during the feast. we ask of your compliance regarding this matter.
> 
> sincerely,
> 
> _wilbur soot_
> 
> president of l’manberg
> 
> p.s. suck it, green boy

* * *

l’manberg is beautiful. blue and red banners are strewn, following the color scheme of the nation’s flag. decorations and lights adorn the place, emphasizing the natural beauty of the area. with how it looks, it almost seems like a war hadn’t just ended a week ago.

almost.

there’s a clear divide between the people in the feast; l’manbergians are on one side, the dream smp members on another. there are also newcomers and neutral people, like niki who just migrated to l’manberg and bad who stayed out of the war.

as time goes on, the lines become less and less defined. it takes a while, but people begin to mingle with each other, regardless of sides or allegiance.

on one end, there's bad and niki cooking and baking, with skeppy trying to gain bad's attention. ant's nearby as well, conversing and laughing with sam and punz.

on another, there's fundy strumming his guitar, fixing the strings of his instrument. there's already an audience waiting for him to play, watching him with eager eyes.

eret is awkwardly standing alone, his betrayal still fresh and raw. it's clear that he's not welcomed with the citizens of l'manberg, and he's not particularly close with any of the members of the dream smp. he's just sort of... there, until niki grabs him by the arm and forces him to socialize.

then there's tubbo and tommy, causing chaos anywhere they go with the former half-heartedly trying to stop the latter. sapnap's walking towards them, his mind made up to do something. the two pause in their yells, eyeing the newcomer warily, tommy’s hand reaching for a weapon that’s not there.

without a word, sapnap offers a bun to tommy. the boy looks at him with his eyes narrowed, as if he wants to look intimidating. in the end, the child scoffs and relents, accepting the offered food.

“don’t think anything about this,” tommy grouses, “i’m just taking it because it’s free food.”

sapnap’s mouth twitches into a smile. he looks like he’s going to provoke the other, but he thinks better of it. “of course,” he says amicably, causing tommy’s eyes to narrow at him again. “whatever helps you sleep at night, child.”

ah. it seems he hasn’t thought better of it.

dream wanders, not quite interacting with any of them. he hides a small, ducking as a pie comes sailing in his direction. sapnap and tommy’s conversation has escalated, and there’s a food fight going on. he hears more yells, more food being thrown, and half-hearted threats and jokes thrown over during the cacophony.

amused, he stands by and looks over at the show, snickering as niki’s voice rises and berates the two perpetrators. before he gets discovered, he slips out of sight, taking the opportunity to chuck a leftover piece of cake at tommy’s face. it’s hard to not burst out laughing, but he manages to do, finally escaping of the chaos.

in all of a sudden, he stops, his ears picking up on george’s and wilbur’s voice nearby. stealthily, he sneaks up into a tree, hidden by shadows as he watches their conversation.

“...mean to,” george is saying, nervousness clearly present in his voice. wilbur is just listening, it seems, offering small encouragements or affirmations here and there. for a while, all dream could hear is silence, and he’s beginning to get worried.

“i don’t trust you,” wilbur admits quietly, and dream exhales at that, “frankly, i don’t think i ever will.”

george wilts, a crestfallen expression beginning to appear on his face.

“but,” wilbur continues, slightly wincing at the hurt showing on the other. “i can forgive you. i will forgive you. we were fighting a war with each other— i hurt you as much as you hurt us. i... i don’t blame you for doing what you did, even if i sometimes wish that you acted differently.”

“so,” the man breathes out. he offers a hand out, a small, hesitant smile on his face. “for peace?”

george’s hand is shaking, but he smiles back nonetheless. “for peace,” he echoes.

sitting on a tree, overlooking them, dream smiles.


	2. ii. far, far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s always a matter of trust. it’s always a matter of believing.
> 
> he trusts all too easily. before, he hasn’t thought of it as a bad thing.
> 
> now, he’s not so sure.

* * *

_ii_.

far, far away

“he dreamed

of a majestic palace,

a towering throne,

and a land

he can call his own.”

* * *

where were we? ah, yes. let us turn another page of the angel’s story.

shall we?

* * *

humans enjoy superiority.

the angel sees them flaunt their wealth over others. he sees them don clothing painstakingly sewn by underpaid laborers, sees them wear jewelry mined and made by slaves. he watches as nobility rise and peasants fall; he watches as the hierarchy grow stagnant, who is on top is on top, and who is below is below.

he sees revolutions, too. he sees rebels fight for their freedom, for independence, for equality. he sees writers and scribes tell poetry and author novels with underlying ideas hidden behind flowery words. he sees soldiers band together, in the dark of the night, in order to topple the ones sitting on top.

he sees children learn how to become adults before they learn how to be children. he sees hands crafting weapons and blades sharp enough to cut through flesh. he sees them aim for bloodshed, for violence, for force, in order to gain what they need.

alone, the angel wonders if there is any point in those battles and wars. he wonders if there is a need for power; he wonders why mortals always want to be on top. greed surely is a factor, but this? this surpasses normal greed— they are destroying each other, killing each other in an endless pursuit for victory, and they do not even care for the consequences.

as the sun rises east, the angel wonders if peace could reign in this chaotic, bloodied era.

then, he supposes, it wouldn’t hurt if he tries.

* * *

the angel thinks on what he should do.

there are a number of things he can do, first and foremost. he could lead the rebellion into victory, send a messenger that scares the nobility into surrendering. he can side with the nobles, too, and let them continue their reign. he can choose a side and let them win the endless battle, but those will always end in bloodshed. those will always cause blood and agony.

a kingdom that is built and created by war will always fall into war.

perhaps, what the angel should do is build a kingdom out of peace.

* * *

it first starts as a small hut. wood grows and entwines themselves together, forming a humble abode. he builds an inn the next, for weary travelers and escaping soldiers who are tired of bloodshed. eventually, it grows and forms a village, a small one in the middle of a forgotten land, full of those exhausted and seeking for solace.

it’s a quaint community. it’s a peaceful one, as all the villagers are well-acquainted with each other and rely on each other’s work. they bring their friends, whom they trust and invite them to join, escaping the war looming over the horizon.

the community expands to other villages, the small ones overlooked in the midst of violence. they are situated at the outskirts, barely given attention by the nobility. they suffer at the hands of their own kingdom and the invading ones, and for that, they make their escape into somewhere they will be protected.

the angel welcomes them all. he introduces them to his new community, intertwined by the same desire for peace, and lets them live life for what it is. they are allowed to do what they want, of course, but they are asked to abide by the rules: no stealing, no destroying, and if there is a conflict, resolve it peacefully.

the small community flourishes. it prospers with the blessing the angel secretly bestows, with the help of nature aiding the community’s doings. crops grow at a fast rate, producing delicious fruits and vegetables; flowers and vegetation grow and adorn the community with beauty.

sometimes, the villagers ask him for his name. the angel doesn’t have one, nor does he know if he had one. when faced with the question, he just smiles and says, “jade.”

the necklace vibrates on his neck, reminding him of what he’d lost and of what he’d learned.

now, as the angel watches over his village, his _home_ , he thinks that it’s alright if he learns more.

* * *

“welcome, welcome!” garrett, a particularly boisterous spearman, greets at the village gates. the gates are mostly made of wood and less of stone, holding arches for entry and exit. it serves both as defense and as to establish the village as an actual community.

the angel perks up, straightening his back from where he’s been gathering vegetables from his farm. his golden hair is tied into a high ponytail— something that he was very fascinated with, much to the villagers’ amusement— keeping them out of his face.

“hello,” a voice says, with charm and just a bit of embarrassment. “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“pleasure to meet ya, too, good sir,” garrett continues jovially, “come in, come in. you’re just in time for the monthly feast!”

“a feast?” another voice queries, one that the angel’s not too familiar with. “why would there be a feast?”

“aye,” garrett laughs, “it’s for fun and bonding, of course.”

“you waste food like that?” the angel blinks, confused at the sudden disdain heard in the second voice.

“nah,” garrett answers, unperturbed, “we have lots of food, so we keep some and hand some to those who needs ‘em. we hold a feast to enjoy life and celebrate living!” after his exclamation, the former spearman scratches his head, “or at least, that’s what leader tells us.”

“leader?” the first voice parrots, bewildered. “you have a leader?”

“but of course!” garret exclaims, “he took us all in, so he’s the leader. in fact, he’s right over there.”

the angel blinks at the sudden attention given to him. he tilts his head, but he offers a smile to the two newcomers, one who is clearly a knight and the other an official or a noble of some sort. he walks steadily towards them, returning garrett’s excited greeting.

“good morning,” he greets calmly.

“so you’re the leader,” the probably knight says with something in his tone, not bothering with returning the greeting. he doesn’t get to say anything more as his companion elbows him in the stomach, offering the angel an apologetic smile.

“please forgive seth, he doesn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter,” the other says, “i’m william. i’m a... runaway, i suppose, and seth here joined me.”

“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the angel says out of courtesy, “it’s alright if you do not want to share your circumstances, no one in here would force you to do so.”

a flash of surprise passes through wilbur’s eyes. the angel notices it, but he doesn’t deign to act upon the expression. “please, have fun,” he says, then raises his basket lightly, “i have to finish gathering the vegetables, please excuse me.”

william motions to seth, the latter grumbling as he takes a step back and walks away. william then catches up to the angel’s walk in long strides, gradually matching his pace with the other’s. the angel smiles at him, a bit confused as to why the other is following him.

“what’s your name?” william inquires curiously, walking beside the angel now, “if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“oh,” the angel pauses, “just call me jade.”

“jade?” the man asks, “that’s a unique name. from the south, i’m guessing?”

the angel shrugs. “i don’t really have a name,” he admits freely, “i never was given one.”

william faces him, gazing at him steadily. the angel stares back, feeling confusion creep onto him again, wondering what he had said wrong. is naming an important tradition in this land? he considers it for a bit.

“then,” william speaks up, “why don’t you give yourself one?”

the angel tilts his head to one side. “what do you think would be an appropriate name?”

william chuckles, “it depends on you, to be fair. you could be irwin, which means ‘white river’. there’s landon, meaning ‘open, grassy meadow’. there’s chilton, mavis, and other names you can choose from.”

the angel hums, keeping his eyes on the road. “those are really good names,” he says lightly, “but i think i’d prefer hearst.”

william whistles, “‘dweller in the woods’, huh?”

“yes!” the angel smiles brilliantly, “i’ve always been connected to nature, so i suppose it’s a fitting name for me.”

“you make it seem like you’ve never had the chance to find a name,” the other points out. at hearst’s awkward and nervous chuckle, william pauses, turning to him with wide eyes. “were you not given a chance to name yourself?”

“i had,” the angel says, “but i guess i never really found the need to find one. until now.”

“until now?”

“i didn’t have parents,” he admits, “i lived alone in a forest.”

it is true. the angel never really did have parents or guardians; all he has is the nature surrounding him and the creatures flocking to his side. once, he may have had the mortals under his protection as his family, but as they turned against him, it’s clear that that connection is already severed.

noticing the other’s growing somberness, william immediately changes the topic. “you seem happy about your previous lifestyle,” he comments, “what made you move into the north?”

the angel shrugs. “curiosity, i suppose. i haven’t really interacted with anyone, so i guess i wanted to try.”

“try?”

he shrugs once more, turning his attention to the stalls and vendors. “to try and socialize, i meant. to have... what do you call it?” he pauses for a moment, thinking. “oh! to have fun.”

william throws his head back and laughs, clear and ringing in hearst’s ears. at the angel’s wide eyes, the man lets his laughter fade, but a smile still remains on his lips. “you’re a weird one,” he says, his eyes twinkling in delight, “and i meant that in a good way.”

the angel blinks, confused. “i see. that’s good, i guess...”

william smiles, beaming. “it is.”

* * *

the village is growing and expanding its borders. the angel smiles, leading william around, keeping his eyes open for seth. it wouldn’t do good if the aforementioned man would get lost, no matter how unlikely that is. the community is still a small place, after all, and there are a lot of people willing to help seth navigate.

“here are the farms!” the angel chirps, brightening as the plants and trees greet him, sending a thrum off comfort in his chest. “we have a lot, more than what we need. i guess a lot of us just like farming and planting, so we kind of went overboard.”

“but it’s okay, though!” he quickly says, “that means we have more food to give to the others in need.”

william hums beside him. “you mean the refugees and survivors?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

the angel nods, “yes. most of the villagers here are refugees and travelers, so we sympathize with their conditions. we’re actually planning on making a place where the refugees can rest in.”

william eyes him, a forlorn expression taking over his face. the angel notices, but he figures that it wouldn’t polite to ask a, technically, stranger. instead, he allows the man and the earth to have a connection, channeling a bit of comfort through the connection.

william jolts, turning to him in surprise. the angel blinks again, confused— he’s always been confused, he thinks, too unused to the traditions and circumstances of the mortal realm. it is easy to live on his own, to abide by his own rules, but to interact with mortals is difficult. to follow their rules and social cues is even more so.

“hearst,” william calls.

the angel jolts out of his reverie. “oh? oh. yes.”

the other man hums, unbothered. he smiles and says yet again, “hearst?”

the angel— hearst, he reminds himself. “yes?”

“nothing,” william answers, his tone a bit cheeky.

hearst eyes him blankly. “...alright then.”

william laughs, bending down to help him gather wheat. hearst has half a mind to pull him back, but at the man’s relaxed form, for the first time since he entered the village, he lets him be.

* * *

as the sun sets, seth is waiting at the village entrance, tapping his feet impatiently. he’s holding the reins to two horses, raising his eyebrow at the sight of william and hearst together. william hoists himself up to the horse, gently refusing the food offered to him by a couple of enthusiastic villagers.

“i’ll be back,” william promises, a sincere smile on his face.

hearst believes him.

* * *

william does return. he returns when the village grew into a town, aiding them with the blueprints and construction of the buildings. he leaves soon after, just as a makeshift school is erected, promising once more.

he does, the second time. this time, it’s when three villages choose to merge with hearst’s own. william comes and helps him settle matters peacefully with the three village elders. he stays two weeks, before leaving as seth arrives and takes him away.

the third time he comes, the makings of a kingdom are already showing. structures and buildings are present, aplenty and functional. more and more people come to stay, to live their lives in the city.

this time, william doesn’t leave.

the man hums, standing underneath the night sky.

“what will you name this place?” he asks softly, intertwining his hand with hearst’s.

hearst doesn’t pull away. he smiles, and returns, just as softly, “asterin.”

across the night sky, streaks of white and twinkling lights continue to glow.

* * *

_“you’ll be named king soon, hearst.”_

_“...”_

_“you just don’t like the practice and formalities, right?”_

_“...they’re a curse to humanity.”_

_“they’re not. i personally think that they’re fun.”_

_“you just like laughing at me when i trip or stutter!”_

_“it’s hilarious!”_

_“shameless! at least try to deny it!”_

_“why would i deny it? it’s true.”_

_“wil!”_

* * *

the coronation is majestic, to put it simply. hearst has never seen an event as grand as this; there’s velvet fabric, statues made from precious stones, and jewels all around. it seems like william and the rest of the kingdom gave their all in making this the grandest coronation in history.

as he walks, feeling all eyes set upon his elegantly dressed figure, he holds his head eye. he can’t halt his smile at the sight of the flowers adorning the area, differing in shape and color. warmth pulses through him as branches twist and curl around the pillars, letting the throne room obtain a more natural look.

the drumming stops, and he hears people kneeling in quick succession behind him. music suddenly resounds, sung in old language, clear and melodic voices ringing in the air. a priest stands before him, holding two objects, an orb and a scepter, both glowing and faintly radiating power.

he takes the two objects in his hands, noticing at how they thrum and pulse in his grasp. he turns his face back to the crowd, smiling at them softly. the priest recites a few words in old language, but all hearst could feel is the crown positioned above his head.

the crown falls, the priest bringing it down. it fits perfectly, as if it was made for him, perfectly showcasing the golden hue of his hair and bringing out the green of his eyes. he smiles, chuckling a little as the citizens rise and cheer, their yells soon overlapping with each other.

william falls beside him, silently, like he always does. hearst looks at him, and sees not a mortal but a friend, not a stranger but a brother. he smiles, wider this time, as the crowd begins their chant.

“long live king hearst of asterin!”

* * *

_“nethilor is planning to attack us.”_

_“that— that doesn’t sound likely. they don’t even have a motive to attack us.”_

_“simple. we’re flourishing, they’re not. we’re in our golden age— they’re in their lowest.”_

_“that’s— ...oh.”_

__

_“this is the perfect time to act, hearst.”_

_“wil.”_

_“i stand by what i said.”_

_“are you suggesting that we attack them first? that we start a war?”_

_“it’s better for us to stay on the offensive; staying defensive will bring us more losses than gains.”_

_“wil.”_

_“hearst, listen to me.”_

_“no. we can’t. that goes against the very reason why we created this kingdom in the first place.”_

_“...nothing can last forever, hearst.”_

_“...”_

_“...this one will take his leave. i hope his majesty reconsiders his verdict.”_

_“william! wait—”_

* * *

the kingdom of asterin flourishes. it always has, but now that there is an established hierarchy and rules, an established order and law, it prospers further, the order bringing equilibrium to the kingdom. hearst stands as the heart of the kingdom, according to william’s proclamation.

the kingdom flourishes, but it’s drifting apart.

quietly, william reads on one end of the study, and hearst signs papers on another.

they’re drifting apart, too.

* * *

_“no! we’re not going into war. we’re not.”_

_“are you just going to let them walk all over us? are you just going to let them degrade us?”_

_“that doesn’t matter. we’re prosperous, we’re in peace. we can’t ruin that because of some stupid pride.”_

_“you—”_

_“i’ve said my piece, william. that is final.”_

_“...yes, your majesty.”_

* * *

“your majesty!” a messenger shouts, his voice echoing through the throne room. “knights at the border! nethilor knights at the border! they’re attacking!”

“nethilor?” hearst asks quickly, “why are they attacking us? we just signed a peace treaty with them two days ago—”

“no time to explain,” william says, his voice and expression hard. he raises his voice, turning to the generals and commanders present in the throne room. “prepare yourselves for battle!”

“yes, m’lord!”

“william, wait—” hearst catches up swiftly, grabbing the man’s arm. “we can resolve this without bloodshed, wil, let me try—”

“no,” william disagrees, his voice the coldest hearst had ever heard from him. “there’s no other option.”

then hearst feels it, the cold blade piercing through his chest. he doubles over, unused to the pain, falling to his knees. he admires the sword’s blade for a moment, of shining white and the characters engraved on the metal.

“...wil?” hearst whispers, “what?”

he’s falling the next second, the blade forced away from his chest. he drops to the ground, his body unresponsive. he watches as golden liquid pool under him, a sweet scent filling the air. he shakily scoops some up, feeling the liquid pulse in his hand and reminding him that this is real.

“...wil,” he says brokenly. “ _wil_.”

it’s like he’s incapable of thinking or saying anything else. he repeats his best friend’s name over and over again, his mind still reeling in shock. his chest stings, an ever present reminder of what had just occurred; no matter how much he tries to deny it, to make an excuse, it’s all futile.

william stabbed him. he was— he was aiming to kill.

william had— he had—

there’s liquid falling on his robes. he peers upward, blearily recognizing william’s face. he’s crying. he’s screaming and holding him tight in his arms, sobs racking his frame. “i’m sorry,” the man— his brother, his best friend— chokes out, “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

but hearst knows the blade that’s pulled from his chest. he’s familiar with it, from the hilt to the metal, from how he sparred with the weapon’s owner, from how he fought together, side by side. he blinks up at william, his chest twisting and tearing apart with emotions hearst can’t quite understand.

“...wil...?” he repeats again, soundless and breathless.

william shakes even further, another onslaught of tears falling from his eyes. he apologizes over and over again, sobbing, crying. he feels the other’s hands cling to him tighter, like he can’t bear to let go. he feels the warmth on his robes, wet and full of grief and guilt.

but hearst doesn’t know. he doesn’t know what to believe.

he stares at william, watching as the man crumbles. there’s love and anger in him, care and regret, affection and disdain. shakily, he brings up a hand, brushing those brown locks out of the other’s face.

then he opens his mouth, feeling like the world is crashing down upon him, and asks, “why?”

* * *

dream sits atop the tower, gazing at the direction of the election. something churns in his stomach, as if there’s something not quite right, but he can’t put a finger on it. he stays as intimidating as possible, his legs thrown over at the edges, balancing precariously. it’s a bit disconcerting, the feeling of nearly falling over.

wilbur is announcing the results— pog2020 is leading by forty-five percent of the votes. dream smiles lightly, hidden under the mask, expecting the election to be over so he can pop up to steal food from the feast.

but apparent, wilbur is not done, and judging by the shake in his voice, it isn’t good news, too.

“—by forty-six percent,” wilbur says, and he knows that tone.

of course, there is a coalition government. of course. dream has forgotten and now, and now—

schlatt won.

schlatt won.

“my first declaration as president,” schlatt is saying, and dread and unease pool in his stomach, twisting his insides. “is to revoke—”

dream stumbles from his place, falling onto the tower floor, his chest tightening and twisting. he wants to yell, but his voice is caught in his throat, rendering him silent. dread thrums in his veins as he stands shakily on his legs, frozen in his position, watching as a spectator as the new president—

“—wilbur soot—”

oh god.

“—and tommy innit!”

oh god.

( _betrayal history repeats itself betrayal lose lose lose you’ll lose them again_ )

* * *

the crown sits inside a glass case, the polished white jade gleaming underneath the lights. the jewels engraved upon it are shining in a similar manner, the sunlight casting an ethereal glow on the crown.

hearst watches with numb eyes as the crown is placed upon his best friend’s— william’s head. the man looks somber instead of joyful at the occasion. his hands hold a scepter and an orb, two things that hearst himself held during his own coronation; the thought of it brings painful memories to the forefront of his mind, adding to the emotional turmoil he feels.

_was the crown all you wanted all along?_

_i would’ve given you the crown if you just asked._

_i would’ve let you become king._

_i wouldn’t have stood in your way._

“long live king william, king of asterin!”

_i cared for you._

_i loved you._

_i... i trusted you._

* * *

the third lesson the angel learns is trust.

* * *

he’s in a daze, fading in and out from consciousness. he is at a loss on what to do; never has he felt anything like this. never has he experienced anything like— like—

betrayal.

william has betrayed him, hasn’t he? he had stabbed him with his own sword, preparing to finish him off, but then he cries and apologizes for doing so. it feels off somehow; hearst has always trusted the other with his life, with his secrets and the kingdom.

it isn’t fair to push all the blame to william, isn’t it? hearst has pushed him away, too. he has told him no over and over again, stubbornly sticking to his ideals, unwilling to change. they drift apart, torn by circumstances and beliefs, and hearst hasn’t tried his best to mend their relationship.

hearst buries his head in his hands. his chest still hurts, aching with the remembrance of a blade. it hurts, not just physically, but also emotionally— his heart and mind are in turmoil, warring with each other.

william must have a reason, his heart whispers.

he must’ve had an agenda, his mind disagrees.

the angel sighs, as if wanting to release his problems and emotions in a single breath, but failing to do so. he watches as the sun rise, the wind doing its best to comfort him from his misery. he leans against the tree, reminiscing all the times he had done it with william, and he thinks—

he wants answers.

* * *

_“what is your reason for writing?”_

_“i want to create a world of my own. i want to create places where everyone is safe and enjoys being together. i want to make poems and essays that allows people to open their eyes. i want to make literary works that tell everyone, ‘there is a future’.”_

_“i want to make them believe.”_

* * *

“greetings, your majesty,” he and the palace attendant say in unison, bowing down.

“who’s he?”

the attendant raises her head. “he is the new apprentice of the royal scribe, your majesty,” she quickly turns her head to him, a signal, “his name is...”

“aldwin,” the angel slips in smoothly, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet his majesty.”

_old friend_.

william’s eyes contract, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. of course, hearst and aldwin are eerily similar; they have the same golden hair, green eyes and pale skin. there are still differences, of course, like their manner of dressing— hearst wore white and pastel colors, preferring light over dark. aldwin prefers neutral colors now, a reminder to himself the he cannot go back to where he once was.

william nods at him, obviously still not trusting himself to speak. aldwin smiles at him and bows again, retreating to a corner of the room. the attendant looks pleased at his manners, and he mentally notes to himself to always put on airs. it makes things easier that way.

the king dismisses them. aldwin doesn’t miss the way his eyes burn through him, doesn’t miss the guilt and regret radiating from the other.

* * *

“your majesty?” aldwin’s voice echo, “your majesty, you called for me?”

william sits on a balcony, built on the same area where they decided on the kingdom’s name. he invites aldwin to sit on a chair adjacent to him, and he graciously accepts.

“thank you.”

“the papers.”

aldwin accepts the small stack of papers, beginning to go over it.

“...thank you,” william’s voice is a whisper.

he doesn’t acknowledge it.

* * *

a field of hydrangeas bloom in an array of different colors. his fingers brush through the petals, soft and smooth to the touch, fragile and easily broken. spring has settled in, many months later after his admission as a scribe. it’s obvious enough, with the snow and ice of winter melting and dissolving into fresh colors and wondrous nature.

he thinks that it’s beautiful. he has always preferred spring— the rise of life.

“beautiful, isn’t it?” william asks, his voice sounding beside him.

“your—” the king halts him, taking hold of his shoulders before he can bow.

“there’s no need to,” the man whispers, “you don’t have to bow before me.”

you don’t have to pretend before me.

( _liar liar he lies lies lies lies_ )

“if his majesty wishes,” aldwin answers, lifting himself from the abruptly stopped bow. after a moment of silence, he averts his attention back to the flowers, once more marveling the hues and shades.

“it’s beautiful,” william repeats beside him with a soft sigh.

something twists in aldwin’s chest. “yes,” he agrees, then carefully adds, “it’s a shame they’re easily broken.”

the light in the other’s eyes dims. slowly, he asks, as if questioning a death sentence, “are you angry at me still?”

aldwin glances at him, a half-smile on his lips. “i do not know what his majesty is talking about.”

william looks at him, really looks at him. he exhales, turning his attention back to the flowers. “if they’re easily broken, i can always plant more,” he says, “i’ll grow them over and over, no matter how many times they get destroyed. i will always try again.”

the scribe stares at his king, and once, their situations are reversed. “if that is the case,” he says, “i hope his majesty has the patience and perseverance to fulfill his oath.”

the king glances back at him, eyes wide in surprise. quickly, he replies, afraid for aldwin— or is it hearst?— to take back his words. “i do,” he says, firmly, “and i will.”

for the first time in countless months, aldwin smiles genuinely.

* * *

aldwin warms up. he opens his heart again, free to care and trust. he gazes into william’s eyes and thinks that he can forgive him.

the angel always does. he always forgives.

before, he hasn’t thought of it as a bad thing.

now, he isn’t so sure.

* * *

there’s chaos everywhere. the kingdom is thrown into chaos at an attack crafted by nethilor, the palace under siege after many days of fending them off. aldwin holds his sword at ready, not quite certain that he’s able to wield it to his full ability, but he knows he can put up a fight. he tears through the creatures, inhuman and reeking of suffering and desperation.

his mind throbs at the overwhelming emotions and thoughts flooding through him, the earth’s cries and the wind’s wails filling his ears. he grits his teeth, trying to force his attention back to the battle, ignoring how the world crumbles at his feet.

an arrow whizzes past, and aldwin’s a little too late to notice it. he grits his teeth, bracing himself for the pain, when a body blocks the arrow from reaching him. aldwin’s eyes widen, watching as familiar chocolate hair and royal blue clothes stumble back, an arrow pierced through his chest.

his mouth feels dry. his chest feels tight.

“i’m sorry,” william gasps out, blood dribbling from his lips. “i’m sorry.”

aldwin watches him with wide eyes, a myriad of emotions passing through him. in a swift movement, his body automatically rushesover to catch the fallen king.

“wil? wil?” he asks frantically, not bothering with formalities or acting. “wil, why did you— oh, oh—”

william laughs, breathing heavily. “i... i thought i’d... never hear you... call me,” he coughs, red liquid spilling from his lips, “...wil again.”

“i’ll call you wil as many times as you want,” aldwin promises, and the familiar desperation tears him again. “don’t leave me. wil,” his voice cracks, “don’t leave me.”

“i’m sorry,” william breathes out. “i’m... sorry...”

blindly, aldwin presses a hand over the wound, trying to halt the blood flow. he attempts to shove his power into the wound, asking for it to heal. it doesn’t, no matter how much he pushes in. he gets rejected, over and over again, but he still tries, tears blurring his vision.

“...hearst,” william says, a soft smile gracing his features, “...aldwin...”

“i... miss...”

silence.

“william?” aldwin’s voice cracks again, “wil?”

“wil, this isn’t funny,” he tries to say it as admonishing as possible. there’s no reply, william’s body rapid cooling in his arms. “wil,” he says, “wil. this isn’t funny, wil.”

“wil!” aldwin yells out, grasping at william’s clothes. “wil, this isn’t funny.”

tears are running down his face, and he lets them. a sob tears from his chest as he shakes william’s lifeless body. “wil,” he chokes out, “wil. you wanted me to call you that, right? i’ll call you that as many times as you want. i won’t laugh at your stupid naming sense anymore. i’ll even cook for you. i won’t make you anxious anymore. you want that, right?”

“wil,” he calls, desperately, “wil. you want that, right? wil, wil. wil, please. i’ll do anything. wil. wil, don’t leave me. don’t.”

“don’t leave me,” he whispers to empty air.

in the middle of the throne room, where hearst once died, aldwin cradles william’s corpse in his arms, crying the same way william cried over hearst.

the pillars are still made of jade. the crude carvings of their names are still there. the crown they shared is still there.

aldwin had never felt so alone.

* * *

“nethilor is attacking! they have an army of inhumans,” a knight bursts into the doors of the throne room, breathing heavily. he kneels down quickly on the floor. “your majesty, orders!”

“recall the forces,” hearst’s voice echoes through the throne room. in shock, the knight momentarily forgets courtesy and etiquette, raising his head to gape at the once dead king. hearst looks at him, a sword gleaming in his hands. “create a barrier. do not let any of the inhumans enter the gates.”

“y... your majesty?” the knight whispers, stunned.

“you have your orders, knight,” hearst says, placing the sword into its sheath. “now.”

“yes, your majesty!” the knight salutes, bowing before running to deliver the message.

hearst watches him go, the sword weighing down heavily on his waist. he sighs, gazing at the crystal coffin william lies on, resting a hand on the glass.

“don’t worry,” he whispers, “i know now. i learned.”

then he turns away, his focus directed to the battle. on his back, large wings of white blossom, broadening and growing until they touch the ceiling. feathers fall on the floor, decorating it with pure white.

the angel’s hand is on his sword’s hilt as he steps out of the throne room, light following him wherever he goes.

“earth,” he whispers, and the land rumbles, obeying his command. it rises, blocking the inhumans’ advance, their screeches growing enraged at the obstacle.

“water,” he calls next, watching with a keen eye as it swirls and blocks the air, preventing creatures with the ability of flight to pass through

“wind,” he smiles as it caresses him for a minute, before shifting into something more deadly and cutting the inhumans into pieces.

“together,” he promises the world, and the world echoes his promise, “together.”

he takes flight, spreading wide, white wings into the air. below him, people are clamoring, pointing at him. he doesn’t take the time to look at their awed and fascinated faces, at their wondering and hopeful expressions. he hovers above, his sword now unsheathed, and he points it to the kingdom of war and sin.

“his majesty hearst is here!”

“his majesty? hasn’t he died?”

“his majesty is alive?”

“is he here to save us?”

“he’s... he’s pointing to nethilor?”

he raises his sword, “ _separate_!”

nothing has happened at first, with light glowing from the ground. in all of a sudden, there is pain attacking his eye, stinging and pulsating with agony. it has gone from nothing to too much, and his wings falter in their flight, too overwhelmed by the pain.

  
the angel screams, his hands immediately reaching for his eye. he falls to his knees, suddenly hitting the ground, the pain too much for him to bear. blood runs down from his right eye, twin rivulets that leak into the ground. above him, someone is asking and trying to comfort him—

it hurts.

it hurts.

it hurts.

it hurts.

the earth rumbles. it splits apart, tearing into a large void. vaguely, he hears screams of pain and terror. he stays there, numb with shock, even as the winds lash at the battlefield and the lightning strikes at them. he stays unmoving, even as magma bubbles from the ground, red rocks spawning far and wide.

his right eye burns, nearly incapacitating him with pain. he shakily stands up, stunned out of his reverie, leaning against his sword for support. there’s thick, golden liquid splashing upon the earth, swallowed greedily by the land; bursting bright with power.

when it recedes, he sees a large, gaping hole where the battlefield used to be. the hole stretches far beyond, reaching the kingdom of nethilor; he watches as the walls and fortresses falls into it, disappearing into the unknown. he sees mangled bodies and corpses doing the same, decaying immediately and mutating into something else. he feels the terror and anger the spirits below hold, their growls and screeches conveying their emotions.

he raises his sword with one hand, clutching his eye with the other, and brings the blade down.

the hole rumbles, bedrock and stone closing together, enchantments weaving to form an impenetrable barrier. he keeps standing, letting the earth siphon energy from him, until the void finally disappears from sight. he feels it close; he feels the earth and hellfire separate, becoming two different lands, two different realms.

his right eye twinges, and he sees, somehow numb with shock and exhaustion, darkness pour into his vision. he forces himself to stay awake, clutching the sword at his hands, still thrumming with power. one more, he tells himself, one more.

the next outburst is more controlled, energy weaving into thick blankets across the sky. he senses the sky tearing open, and he allows the void to appear, the inhuman creatures screeching as the void sucks them in. his left eye aches this time, hurting more and more as his power recedes.

he tumbles to the ground when the void finally closes, signifying the creation of the third realm. there’s nothing but corpses and stunned mortals around him, watching him with wide eyes. he takes in a shaky breath, his wings fluttering weakly behind him, the feathers dirty and stained with crimson blood.

“it’s over,” he tells them, his voice weaker than he intended it to be. “it’s over.”

cheers erupt around him and he tiredly smiles. they’re united once more, joining together against a common enemy. his eyes are slipping close, and he thinks he must’ve overexerted himself, because he doesn’t even register hitting the ground.

when he wakes up, he hears the chirping of the birds and feels the warmth of sunlight on his skin. he sighs contentedly, throwing off the blankets covering his body. still groggy, he blinks himself awake, stretching his sore limbs.

he opens his eyes.

darkness greets him.

* * *

the fourth lesson the angel learns is sacrifice.

* * *

the rain pelts down on his skin. it’s cold, but all dream feels is fire burning him.

wilbur and tommy are exiled. exiled from the nation they sacrificed so much for, from the nation they created with their own hands.

wilbur will not take it lying down.

( _madness madness vengeance madness hate hate hate_ )

the land is falling apart.

george is with quackity and schlatt. he’s siding with manberg. he wouldn’t be happy if dream chooses to help pogtopia instead of his best friend— and they were already drifting apart before this. sapnap is angry at him, feeling betrayed. fundy is falling apart with his father; tubbo is becoming different under schlatt’s abuse and wilbur’s increasing madness.

everyone is falling apart.

dream is losing all of them.

( _lose lose lose you’ll always lose everyone you’re weak weak weak powerless hopeless_ )

he swallows back the tears, feeling bile rise in his throat. he stumbles forward, shivering against the cold, with no one by his side to keep him warm. he walks and walks and walks, his hands freezing and lips turning blue underneath the torrent of the rain.

( _give up give up give up_ )

* * *

“what’re you doing here?”

“...blood god.”

“...dream, how did you—”

“promise me something.”

“a god’s oath isn’t something easily afforded.”

“an oath between two gods is something that i can afford.”

“what is it then?”

“...protect them.”

* * *

there are many differences and insecurities that make people fight with each other. there are many reasons that cause wars and bloodshed. there are many ways that a land can fall apart.

there is little that make people be at peace with each other. there are only a few reasons that allow people to enjoy time together. there is little that can mend a torn land.

dream knows of one.

a common enemy unites the bitterest of enemies and the worst of nemeses together, as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> characterization go brrrrrr  
> the pacing is awful, the scenes are cringy, the writing is... bad  
> please be nice to me, i bingewrote this in a day


	3. iii. long ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he has learned four lessons: greed, forgiveness, trust and sacrifice.
> 
> they change him, mold him into what he is.
> 
> he hasn’t expected the fifth to alter him this much.

* * *

_iii_.

long ago

“he dreamed

of a quiet respite,

a beautiful solace,

and the darkest night.”

* * *

it’s disheartening, isn’t it? how one gives out kindness and receives ill intent in return.

but don’t worry— the angel learns this soon enough.

* * *

wandering suits him.

with his new disability, it’s hard to maneuver around roots and rocks. he stumbles more often than not, tripping over debris and falling on the ground. it takes him a while to get the hang of feeling what is in front of him, taking an old branch to guide him along the way.

the trees curl into him, their branches and roots moving for him to make way. he notices, with a detached sort of melancholy, how he misses the feeling of wood against his skin. in building his kingdom, he’s spent time indoors, mulling over scrolls, maps and reports. there are no breaks in between meetings and alliances; he hasn’t taken a walk through the gardens to appreciate the nature around him, an issue always disturbing him in those times.

as if sensing his disquiet, the wind brushes through his skin and hair, like a comforting embrace. he smiles, laughing as birds chirp their greetings and animals curl into his legs. for a moment, he forgets the betrayal that pierces through his chest like a hot blade; he forgets the ache in his eyes, his sight taken away from in a necessary sacrifice.

for a moment, he feels in peace. he feels the one thing he preached and encouraged mortals to cherish.

fallen leaves crinkle beneath his feet. he steps forward, tapping the branch on the ground, moving away the rocks from his way. birds soar high above him, and his wings twitch within his back, itching to fly once more. he suppresses the urge, smiling instead as a fruit drops into his hand.

“thank you,” he whispers to the nature, feeling them preen at his words. “thank you.”

he continues his walk, biting into the apple in his hands. it tastes sweet, much like nature’s affection for him. he swallows it down, ignoring the bitterness rising in his chest.

* * *

days pass. weeks pass. it could’ve been years for all he knew. the trees do their best to alleviate the ache in his chest, and he appreciates it. however, in the recesses of his mind, he thinks that no one could soothe the pain he feels.

he still makes do with what he has. he lives in a thatched cottage, spending his days watering plants and waiting for them to grow. he bakes bread and makes pies; he makes jam and takes the fruits the trees give him. he lulls himself into a routine, a peaceful and familiar one, trying to make himself forget.

“avi,” he laughs, the bird twittering in front of him. “stay above me. i can’t see you— i could bump into you and hurt you. i don’t want to do that.”

_i’m sorry. i never wanted to do this— i’m sorry._

_i know that my apologies mean nothing. what’s done is done. but i..._

_i... i want to work for your forgiveness. i want to tell you that— that, i loved you. that all the words back then i said were true. i—_

avi chirps at him, questioning, now perched on his shoulder. “sorry,” he shakes his head, trying not to jostle the bird burrowing into his clothes. “i was lost in my thoughts.”

he walks, humming a small tune as he swings the basket lightly. it’s full of fruits, such as peaches and apples, the trees’ gift to him today. he has plans to make another pie; maybe he could try to make one with two fruits this time.

his steps falter, just shy of the border between the forest and the clearing where his cottage is. it certainly is odd to have a clear space in a dense forest, but it’s nature’s gift to him— a place for him to build alone, unhindered by roots and other debris.

there are angry calls in the cottage. he feels the creatures’ anger and annoyance, hears their angered noises. he hastens his walk, letting avi fly away, his hand tightening around the woven basket. his hand pushes the wooden door open, preparing to dodge an attack—

“ow!” someone yelps. that is, unmistakably, the sound of a child. there’s a muffled voice following the exclamation, and he pauses. “ow, ow, ow! i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”

“hello?” he calls over the growls and screeches, which grows anew at his presence. he almost feels a headache coming. “quiet, please.”

at his behest, the creatures begrudgingly stay quiet, although there are still a few hisses here and there. he lets his gratefulness pass through them, knowing that it would settle their frayed nerves, as he walks closer to where the pained yells come from.

“hello,” he says, sensing someone in front of him. he tilts his head, certain that he looks like a fool, especially since he doesn’t see who he’s talking to. “i’d like to apologize for jin and the others’ behavior—”

he hears a hiss, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “they aren’t usually hostile. that is why i’d like to ask— what were you doing?”

“we— I was just curious, fairy,” a child’s voice answers, wavering, “i didn’t mean to break in!”

( _lies, he lies, liar liar liar_ )

“mhm-mm,” he nods, unconvinced. he doesn’t believe the excuse for a second, and the disagreement of the creatures emphasize that further. “and let me guess, you’re curious about the pie you’re holding, aren’t you?”

the child splutters, “this, um, this was an accident!”

he smiles, holding back a laugh at the other’s stammers. “it’s fine,” he says gently, “if you’re hungry, you can always ask me for food. but don’t try to steal next time, okay?”

there’s silence for a moment, the occasional chitter here and there. he hums, moving to the chests, where he keeps his cooked food in. there’s a sudden noise behind him, and he pauses, shifting back to ask. he doesn’t get the opportunity as small arms wrap around his legs.

“thank you,” the child whispers, and he’s alarmed at the sudden wetness on his robes. “no one has been this— this kind.”

he hums, letting the child hug him for a few moments. when arms untangle from his body, he reaches over and pats the child on the head. “where are your parents?” he questions, kneeling to open a chest.

“they’re gone,” the child murmurs, their eyes trained on him. he can just feel it. “i’m— i’m an orphan.”

“oh, i’m—”

“but it’s fine, though!” the child interrupts hastily, as though they don’t want to hear the words. he makes a mental note on that. “i have an older brother, and he’s a cat hybrid! there’s also miss helga, she gives me bread sometimes...”

his ears twitch at the sudden movement— not coming from the child or the creatures, who dispersed sometime earlier on. he inclines his head, “is your brother here?”

“um— um.”

“sorry,” comes a muffled voice, “i’m sorry,” the voice is clearer now, and embarrassed. “i didn’t mean to, um—”

he shakes his head. “it’s fine. although, you might need to work on sneaking around.”

there’s a splutter behind him. he doesn’t need to have his eyesight to know that the cat hybrid is blushing, a mewl behind the other’s throat.

“yes,” comes the embarrassed squeak.

he hums, closing the chest shut. he takes the basket into his hands and pours food into them. he shifts, trying to figure out where the two are staying; it’s not really hard to deduce, given the sound of their breathing and murmured conversation.

“here,” he says, offering the basket to his two new acquaintances. he thinks they snap out of their reverie, and he waits until a hand takes the offered basket. he dusts his robes off, wishing he can see the dirt on them. “come back when you need more, okay?”

at the surprised affirmation, he averts his attention to the stove, welcoming the sudden turn of events.

* * *

robin— the child’s name, he learns— comes again. it’s the eleventh time after their first meeting, six of them with his brother in tow. he isn’t really surprised at the child’s return, only offering a basket of pastries at the call. it’s endearing, to be fair, at how the child still refers to him as fairy, although he’s well aware that he looks anything but.

the child is quiet, which is unusual. robin entertains him with stories, about his village and his medical studies, about his older brother and father figure— cat. concerned, he turns to robin’s general direction.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, “did something happen to your village?”

“well,” robin starts. he gets the feeling that the child winces. “there’s drought, and, and there’s a lack of food. so...” they trail off. “i... i just wanted to...”

he tilts his head, letting out a contemplative hum. “i can give you food,” he offers, “i have a lot of bread, fruits and vegetables. i don’t have meat though, would that be fine?”

robin turns to him quickly, as if surprised. “really?” the child says breathlessly, running over to hug him, “it’s no problem at all! thank you! thank you! thank you!”

he smiles, letting the child’s chatter and the birds’ chirping fill the air. he pats robin’s head, something like fondness curling in his chest.

* * *

it’s noon when they arrive at the village. he wears his mask, knowing that his eyes frighten people sometimes. in one hand, he holds robin’s, and in the other is bag, filled with food for the townspeople.

he hears murmurs around him, sensing the distrust and tension in the atmosphere. he lets go of robin’s hand, looking on as the child blabbers on excitedly. he can almost envision the child tugging at someone’s tunic or clothes, asking them for attention.

“hello,” he greets when robin’s voice fades. he hears footsteps in front of him, and he sets the sack down. “robin told me that you need food.”

murmurs break out, this time with more intensity. there’s a sudden quietness, and he can see someone with authority raising a hand to silence the others. carefully, he places the sack down and opens it, showing fresh fruits and vegetables within.

the others are clearly taken aback, given by their silence. there’s pandemonium the next, the cacophony leaving his ears ringing. he steps back, overwhelmed for a bit, and feels grateful for the sudden hush that envelops the place.

“here,” he tells them, carefully making his voice even and pleasant. “it’s not poisoned or rotten, don’t worry. i simply had more than i could eat, so i chose to help a friend. i won’t ask for anything back.”

the clamor rises again, but this time he shifts to escape the noise, aiming to return to his home. he doesn’t quite get a step further when robin rushes over and hugs his legs again, a laugh escaping both their lips.

“thank you!” people shout, overlapping with each other’s gratitude. he hears the sack moving, a couple of fruits tumbling to the ground. he hears their yells of joy, and he smiles, happy to help those in need.

“we can’t accept this,” someone says, “especially without a price. is there anything that you might need? want? clothes maybe? or...”

“nothing,” he says, and just to relieve their minds, he adds, “just take care of cat and robin.”

he feels the aforementioned two’s surprise, having formed a connection with them for the past few weeks. he smiles behind his mask, patting robin’s head once more as the child burrows his face into his robes.

he gently untangles the younger’s hands, intertwining his hand with the other’s. “i have to go home now, okay?” he says quietly, “come visit me whenever you want.”

he turns his head up, a shadow looming over him. “that’s the same for you too, cat. stay safe, okay?”

he hears clothes rustling, and he assumes cat must’ve taken robin into his arms. he turns, fully prepared to leave. while he’s happy to interact with mortals again, the attention is too much; he needs to piece himself together first before he can talk to a crowd.

“wait!” an elder’s voice calls out, “i’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“my name?”

he pauses in his tracks. a memory comes unbidden in his mind.

_“cornelius is a good name.”_

_“yeah, yeah.”_

_“hearst!”_

_“i didn’t say anything!”_

“it’s cornelius.”

* * *

cornelius has learned a lot over the course of a few months. one, he remembers that mortals are pleasant to be with. two, he may or may not have acquired a son. three, he has two homes now, one as his solace and the other as his community; the town had forcefully adopted him as their own. he isn’t quite sure how that came to be.

cat and robin, mostly the latter, visit him in his cottage, nagging him to come out and socialize. at first, he refuses a handful, not quite sure how they’d react to someone like him. however, as time passes by, the villagers are grateful for his help, and assures his comfort whenever he visits.

it’s gratifying, if he were to be truthful. even during his time as a beloved monarch, he never had people greet him so warmly and voluntarily.

he inclines his head to a greeting. he’s pretty sure they know he’s smiling behind his mask. he returns it, accepting the cloth thrusted into his arms, laughing a bit helplessly at the small mound of gifts from the town. it’s an unspoken rule to shower him with affection, sometimes leaving him a bit overwhelmed. it led to him asking the mayor if they could tone it down once. it’s embarrassing and a bit guilt-inducing, but the mayor only laughs in return and has the villagers’ enthusiasm more subtle.

robin’s tugging at his sleeves, leading him to somewhere. they both stop into a halt, and cornelius feels wood pressed into his hands. he runs his hand all over it, finding the texture calming and composing. he traces the carved words, a hint of surprise showing in his body language.

“i,” cornelius pauses, his hands running over the sign. “for me?” he ends up asking, shifting his head around.

“yeah!” cat’s voice comes out happily, the sound of the man stumbling forward echoing in his ears. he catches the man into his arms, not minding the other’s embarrassed sputter. a hand wraps around his, leading him away, and for some odd reason, his breath catches in his throat, warmth bleeding into his cheeks. thankfully, cornelius doesn’t think anyone noticed.

cat leads him to a door, and cornelius traces his hands over it. it’s made of oak, he identifies, tapping near the knob.

“here you go! we made it just a couple of days ago, so it’s probably not big...”

“that’s okay,” he says in a rush, the words leaving his lips involuntarily, “i prefer cozy spaces than large ones.”

happiness radiates from cat’s form. “really? i do, too! now come, we have to decorate your house!”

someone giggles behind both of them. he tries to ignore it, really, even as his ears warm despite the cool weather. he allows the hybrid to lead him in, his fingers tracing over the wooden walls as they walk. he feels the opening where the windows are, breathing in the warmth of the sunshine and the freshness of the air.

cat still hasn’t let go of his hand.

* * *

“what’re you doing?”

cat slams something on the ground, scurrying away. amused, cornelius reaches over, trying to grasp at whatever the hybrid is doing.

“nothing!” cat says, too fast for it to be believable. “you don’t need to know! besides, don’t you have your pies to slave on?”

“you make it seem like the pies are controlling me,” he responds, amusement seeping into his tone.

“well, they are!”

“they do not,” cornelius protests, noticing the weak attempt at deflecting. “and i’m not letting this distract me from the fact that you’re doing something again.”

“i’m always doing something,” cat refutes, “i don’t always tell you everything! i’m allowed to keep secrets too, y’know!”

cornelius huffs, but lets the matter slide. “if you’re attempting to sew again, i’m telling on helga,” he threatens, “you’re a disaster with a needle.”

“i’m not!” cat jumps to his feet, the agility of a cat present in his form. “it’s just because i’m blind! otherwise, i’ll be the best sewer in town!”

“i think you mean tailor,” cornelius points out.

cat grumbles, “whatever.”

silence descends on their conversation, but it’s comfortable. cornelius takes a seat beside cat, leaning against the wall. cat shifts his head to lie on his shoulder and cornelius lets him, secretly pleased at the action.

“you’re not sewing, are you?” cornelius asks again, just for confirmation.

cat’s response is muffled, and just a tinge sleepy. “am not.”

“we’ll see, then. if you yelp, i’ll know that you’re lying.”

“cornelius!”

* * *

“there are more carrots than i expected,” cornelius says, gathering the vegetables into his basket. “i didn’t think they’d grow this quick.”

“it’s probably because of jack’s fertilizer,” cat says beside him, his voice muffled with a towel. he can hear the hybrid move, presumably to wipe off his sweat. “do you not feel hot?”

cornelius hums, standing and dusting his pants. it probably doesn’t do much, expect for spreading the dirt around, but old habits die hard, he guesses. “not really,” he answers truthfully, “i’m used to weather like this. cold, too.”

“but you lived in a forest,” cat points out, grunting a little, probably gathering the carrots on his side. “it’s fairly cold there, as far as i’ve observed.”

“i traveled before,” cornelius says, figuring that a little half-truth wouldn’t do badly. “it was blistering in the northern area.”

he feels cat’s attention poured onto him, mentally wincing. “you traveled to the north?” the hybrid asks, dumbstruck.

“i was kind of a nomad,” he admits, “ah, no. i lived in the north and went south.”

“what was it like?”

“the north?” cornelius pauses, waiting for cat to murmur his affirmation. “well, it’s chaotic, i guess. there are a lot of kingdoms and wars going on. i left because of that.”

he feels cat tilt his head to one side, considering. “you came from the north,” cat says, something like wonder and curiosity in his tone. “was that the place you were talking about?”

_“i know of four homes,” cornelius whispers, on one fateful night. “one is long gone. the second is destroyed.”_

_“but i know where i belong now,” he says, speaking it like a delicate truth. “i know where i should stay.”_

cornelius feels his breath hitch.

“no,” he murmurs, “the north isn’t my...”.

once, he may have considered a tall, imposing mountain as his home. once, he may have considered a flourishing kingdom, crafted by his own hands, as his solace. once, he may have considered the open air and roads, stretching far and wide as the eyes could see, his home.

but beneath cat’s gentle touches and giggling whispers, he knows where his home is. this is where his heart belongs, what his heart longs for in the midst of mortals, their greed and chaos. this is what he longs for from the very start— the goodness and love he knows they possess.

cat’s hands are with his, the carrots and baskets lying forgotten. “oh,” he breathes, and cornelius breathes, too.

they both know.

* * *

he and cat escape the festival, staged yearly as a celebration for the bountiful harvest. they manage to slip undetected in the forest. there are a few close calls, where they were almost caught, but they thankfully escaped without attention turned to them. they’re both laughing, exhilarated, recognizing the grin in each other’s voices.

cat pulls him somewhere, their hands intertwined. the trees welcome them both, rustling lightly, and he greets them back with a pulse of power. he lets cat lead the way, warmth blooming in his chest.

as the cheers and sounds of joy fade away in the background. suddenly, cornelius grows hyperaware of the hand on his own, of how close cat is. he hasn’t felt anything like this before; the ever consuming need to always be with the other, to protect him, to hold him close.

cat is humming as they walk. faintly, he feels the threads of energy coming from the trees pour into his core, a welcome ringing in his mind. he sends a greeting back, enjoying the embrace the earth beneath his feet and the wind above his head offer, twirling around. the wind plays with his hair, threading through the locks, letting them spread out like wings.

cat murmurs beside him, softly. “the wind likes you, doesn’t it?”

the wind purrs in response. cornelius laughs, a light and floaty thing. “it does,” he affirms, his eyes bright, “we’ve always shared a connection, i guess.”

“it’s not just the wind too,” cat continues, “i feel how the earth thrums when you’re near. how the trees move for you. how we never encounter danger during our walks in the forest.”

cornelius listens to him list down the events. strangely, he doesn’t feel anxiety pool in his stomach, as if he knows that cat would always be there for him— as if he knows that cat would accept him, no matter what.

cat’s voice takes a hesitant note. “i... cor, i think you’re, you’re—”

“i’m not human,” he says, and it feels so easy on his tongue. the admission slips, not like a secret, but an intimacy shared between two lovers. his cheeks warm at the thought, his stomach shifting uneasily. “i was never a human.”

cat hums, then with a pleased smile that cornelius could just hear, “thank you. for telling the truth.”

“you're not scared?” he asks, the words falling before he can stop them, “or angry that i kept it from you? or afraid of what i can do?”

cat turns to him, amusement seeping out in waves. “why would i be, cornelius?”

“i did bad things,” he admits, the memory of pained screams and mangled bodies still clear in his mind. “i killed people.”

“that doesn't matter,” cat says softly, “i don't care what you did. i don't care if you're a human, or a deity, or a criminal.”

“to me, you'll always be cornelius,” cat admits, falling into an embrace, “you'll always be the man that gave us when we had little. you'll always be the man that helped us when we had nothing.”

cat softens once more. then, like a dangerous secret, he whispers, “you'll always be the man i love.”

cornelius's breath catches in his throat. “cat,” he whispers, struggling to find the correct words to express what he feels.

“...i love you, cornelius,” cat confesses. “i always have.”

cornelius squeezes his hand. he doesn’t know love, doesn’t know how it feels. he doesn’t know what he’s feeling for cat, but, but—

“i love you too, cat.”

he has an inkling of what it is.

* * *

( _bad bad bad love is painful it will hurt you_ )

( _it hurts it hurts it hurts stop stop stop_ )

* * *

grass rustles beneath him. the bark of the tree vibrates lightly, the leaves swaying along the wind in a rhythm dream vaguely recognizes. the wood is tough and hoarse against his skin, lightly scratching at his clothes, but it is beginning to seem like a solace. he hums, letting the comfort deep into his skin, making his frayed nerves relax.

the sound of grass rustling rings in his ears once more, and he extends his senses, realizing tommy’s presence near him. carefully, as to not alert the other, he moves from one tree to another, making it seem like there’s no one nearby.

he waits until tommy is gone, watching the boy closely. every now and then he turns, like he knows that somebody is watching him, and dream smirks at the unease. it’s hilarious in a sense, but not so much when he thinks of what the boy has gone through.

he creeps around, waiting for the opportune moment to slip by undetected. tommy leaves after a while, and dream takes the moment to discreetly add a shulker box into the entrance of pogtopia. he takes a piece of paper and ink, biting down on his lip as he thinks of what to write.

> _use them wisely._
> 
> _\- hacd_

satisfied, he returns to the tree, intent of catching a few hours of sleep.

the trees do a fantastic job at hiding him, anyway.

* * *

“did you know that this would happen?”

dream isn’t surprised at techno’s voice, inclining his head to the other as a greeting. he waits until the man is standing behind him, the sound of a sword swinging back and forth in his ears. techno waits for him, patiently, setting the sword onto the ground.

the earth shivers, lightly moving away from the sword. it is unnoticed by the other, but dream feels the earth’s apprehension and fear; briefly, he thinks he can understand why that is the case.

( _no don’t be afraid fear is a weapon not a weakness use it to fight fight kill destroy_ )

“no,” he finally speaks up, mask in place. “i didn’t expect for schlatt to win.”

he feels techno’s eyes on him, sharp and searching. dream doesn’t let up, remaining firm in front of the eyes of a man-god, who lives up to his title. techno then sighs after a few seconds, sheathing his sword back. the hybrid sits, crosslegged, beside him.

“i don’t like governments,” techno says, his voice holding a bit of humor, “i think everyone knows that already.”

“they do,” dream affirms.

“i‘ll most likely end up destroying manberg,” the hybrid continues, as if he hasn’t heard dream at all. “and you don’t have any problems with that.”

“i don’t.”

“what about your friends?”

dream falls silent. what about his friends, indeed?

what about george, the vice president of manberg? what about sapnap, who dwells in there? what about the citizens living in that area, unaware of the chaos that’s going to happen? what about their lives?

“...they’ll be okay.”

( _traitor traitor you’re betraying them monster how could you_ )

“i’ll make sure of it.”

( _liar liar liar you couldn’t even save wil you couldn’t even save ca—_ )

dream stands up quickly, ice flooding his veins. techno watches him, scrutinizing his every move, ready to act at the slightest sign of danger.

“i don’t know what would happen,” he says, and there’s something different in his voice. he doesn’t like it. “but i know what would happen if i leave wilbur alone.”

( _vengeance vengeance revenge hate kill destroy_ )

(n̸̨͖͉͎̉o̵̞̰͋t̸̺̾̂̄̿͐h̵̛̦̞̦̅̓̾̚i̷͉̐͌͠ñ̸̪͖͎̻̹̓g̴̰̫͓̞̖̔́ ̴̪̼̫͍͔̌̉̒̕t̶͎̫͎̽ỏ̷͙͇͊͘ ̷̲̟͕͗̈̕l̴̥̭͙̈́̎̔ͅỏ̶̟̂̂s̶̬̹͕͙̉͌̈́̿͜e̴̯̰͎̓̂͜)

“...alright.”

he slumps, tension leaving from his form. there are tears building at his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall like he had allowed them years ago. he takes his axe, preparing to leave, when his feet halt on their own. there’s a nagging feeling in his head, reminding him over and over again—

“take care of wilbur,” he says quietly, not turning back, “don’t give up on him.”

techno looks at him, really looks at him. he knows.

“i won’t.”

* * *

it’s nearly dawn, around five in the morning, when he reaches sapnap’s house. the other is waking, evidenced by his slightly uneven breathing and the sounds of movement coming from his room. stealthily, his footsteps leaving no evidence of him there, dream makes his way to the guest room, plopping on the spare bed with a sigh.

his body sings in relief, happy at the slight amount of rest granted. he rolls, ending up headfirst into a bunch of pillows, sinking into the softness of them. sleep seems like a blessing, by this point.

( _you don’t deserve it you don’t deserve it_ )

“dream?” sapnap’s voice comes from the doorway.

dream groans, propping his head above the pillows, instead of burying himself in them. “g’way,” he mutters, throwing a blanket over him.

incredulity coats sapnap’s tone. “did you go to bed without changing?” he asks slowly, like he couldn’t believe it. his footsteps sound, before he comes to a step, just shy away from the bed. “are you getting dirt on my sheets?”

( _there’s blood blood red red red i i’m sorry_ )

dream whines, something that he’d deny later on. he’s thankful for sapnap always being there, no matter what. george stays in his office now, avoiding dream; bad and skeppy seem distant now, with them living in their own lands. sam and punz are doing who-knows-what, engrossed in their own businesses. sapnap is the only one who stayed by dream’s side.

“i’m not,” he grouses, whining once more as hands try to pry him from the very comfortable bed. “g’away, sapnap, lemme sleep.”

“i’m not letting you dirty my bed, dream,” sapnap emphasizes, successfully pulling him away. he scrunches his nose. “take a shower. you stink.”

“i hate you,” dream grumbles in response, but he begrudgingly moves away from the bed, throwing one last look at them. sapnap rolls his eyes, shoving him towards the bathroom.

with their interaction, it’s easy to forget that they are on two different sides. it isn’t really obvious yet, with dream’s allegiance to pogtopia still veiled, but the thought weighs down heavily on his mind. he and george are already at odds; he can’t afford to lose sapnap, too.

( _you’ll lose him monster tyrant you’ll lose everyone_ )

he sighs, somberness taking over the lighthearted cheer and gratitude from earlier. he loses the eagerness to take a bath, changing his clothes with new ones instead. as he slips into a new hoodie, unknowing of the color, a thought comes to mind.

he returns to the guest room— technically dream’s room now, from all the time he’s spent there. he gathers the pillows and blankets, leaning over the window to push them onto the roof. wind brushes against his skin as he reaches out, and he smiles, trying to lift his own mood.

“dream?”

at sapnap's voice, dream freezes from where he's been attempting to leave through the window. he looks back at his best friend, a guilty expression on his face, and it shows through his body language.

( _you always leave you always leave abandon hypocrite hypocrite hypocrite_ )

“you're leaving already?” sapnap asks, something in his voice. “i thought you're staying for— never mind. sorry for the bother. be careful out there, okay?”

( _useless worthless bad friend how could you leave them always and expect them to be there for you—_ )

guilt tears through dream like a spear. he clambers off, the strained smile slipping from sapnap's face. “no no no," he quickly refuses, "i'm staying! i was just trying to—”

a pillow tethers over the room, falling, immediately followed by other pillows. dream flushes, barely managing to catch the fallen items in time. he drops them on the floor, leaning over once more to grab the blanket before it’s taken away by the wind. sapnap moves closer to him, helping him recover the items and organize them cleanly.

“it’s no longer night, dream,” sapnap points out, the tension leaving him, amusement filling the empty spots. dream notices that with a smile, pleased to improve the other’s mood. “you can't stargaze during the morning.”

( _darkness dark dark dark dark dark_ )

“i was going to watch the sunrise,” dream grumbles half-heartedly, hoisting the pillows again into his arms. “i wasn't going to stay out for long.”

there's fondness in sapnap, dream realizes, as the other helps him with the pillows. “i'll join you,” he offers, “i'll join in stargazing during the morning.”

“i was going to watch the sunrise,” dream emphasizes again, “i'm not allowing you to join if you keep teasing me!” he threatens, even though they both know it’s empty.

“alright, alright,” sapnap laughs, “let's go then, before the food goes cold.”

( _your heart is cold no no no don’t don’t don’t_ )

* * *

centuries ago, dream enjoys the sunsets and sunrises. he lies on the soft grass, watching in awe as auroras dance above him and stars twinkle across the night sky. it’s like a canvas, painted dark blue and splattered with white paint.

it was beautiful.

the wind brushes against his skin as he closes his eyes. he can almost imagine it; a sun rising, orange, pink and red blending into a magnificent spectacle along the horizon. he can imagine the lack of humans and abundance of creatures, lying beside him to watch. he can almost taste the freshness of the air on his tongue, the calm rush of the river and the pleasant sounds of nature echoing in his ears. he can almost see the water, reflecting the sunrise; he can almost see the mountaintops of far beyond, framing the slowly ascending light. 

when he opens his eyes, however, all he sees is darkness. he feels a pang of loss and sorrow, but he brushes away, knowing that his sacrifice is for the best of the three realms. the thought sets his heart at ease, and he almost can ignore the turmoil rising in his mind.

( _liar liar liar selfish selfish hero glory you only want the excuse your sacrifice was for nothing liar liar_ )

sapnap moves closer to him, his clothes rustling. the wind rushes past the both of them, making dream’s hood fall to his shoulders, golden hair taken away with the breeze. it plays with his hair for a while, letting them dance, and he humors it for a moment.

“beautiful,” sapnap breathes out beside him, a sigh escaping the other’s lips.

dream squints his eyes, the wind humming on his skin. “yeah.”

sapnap leans against him, lying his head on dream’s shoulder. he lets his best friend do so, pulling him in closer. warmth radiates off sapnap, but the other only hums in pleasure as a blanket is thrown over both of them. it’s peaceful and just happy, an odd moment in the midst of war.

dream breathes, and lets the rare peace settle over his head, smiling behind his mask.

* * *

something twists in his chest. it isn’t the warmth sapnap provides him, curled into each other like they had when they were children. it isn’t hope and happiness that intermingle with each other, relief and care dancing in him.

cold seizes his mind, like a bucket of ice splashed upon him.

( _y **O** u c **AR** e t **OO** **M** uc **H**_ )

( _ **MIS** t **A** ke m **I** s **TA** k **E** mi **S** t **AK** e_)

* * *

it’s a quiet night when cornelius rests, patting the space he’s lying on to let cat know. cat nods at him, and feels the smile creeping on both their faces. robin’s fast asleep in his cot, snoring as usual. he gives out a small laugh, accepting cat’s asking touch, intermingling their hands together.

“it’s so peaceful,” cat’s voice breaks through the comfortable silence. “it’s hard to believe that there’s a murderer outside.”

cornelius sighs beside him. “yeah. i just don’t understand why would anyone want to destroy this town.”

( _you know you know power control betrayal fear power chaos destruction control power_ )

they fall into silence again, and he feels sleepiness creep onto him. how odd. he has never felt sleepy before; an urge to rest, maybe, but never sleepiness.

“cornelius?” cat asks, his voice broken by a yawn.

he hums in response, curling into the warm blanket.

“you’ll stay with me, right?”

“yeah.”

“promise?”

cornelius cracks an eye open. he stares through endless darkness, but he thinks he can imagine cat’s face, how soft and gentle he is, how kind and perfect he is. he clasps their hands together, and murmurs.

“promise.”

* * *

it’s the dead of the night when cornelius hears footsteps.

in all of a sudden, a knife pierces his chest, and cornelius gasps, his eyes wide open. he can’t see, of course, but he still senses the person above him. in a fit of panic, his mind running elsewhere, he tries to throw that person off. he does, the force of his push resulting in a loud thud.

it’s a man. cornelius forces the panic down, tries to make his nerves settle. his chest burns from where the knife tears it apart. he sits up, ignoring the sudden sweetness that permeates through the air— the blood of a deity is different from the blood of a mortal.

the murderer has already escaped, that cornelius is sure, his chest still twinging. he gasps, his breaths growing increasingly labored. cat stirs awake beside him, and cornelius tries to tell him to go back to sleep, but all that comes out if his mouth is a cough.

immediately, cat is awake, hovering over the spot where cornelius used to lie. “cor?” he asks, concerned, “are you okay? are you sick?”

another blubber escapes cornelius’s throat. he chokes out, coughing as thick liquid falls onto his fingers. his mind is heavy, weighing his body down. he falls on his side, weakly grasping at cat’s hands as his husband’s voice increases in volume.

“cor? cor? cor? are you okay?” cat whispers, his breath stuttering, “cor?”

cat’s fingers reach his bloodied chest, staining his fingers with blood. cornelius knows that the other has realized it already, deeply wanting to comfort him. cornelius wouldn’t die; he hasn’t died as hundreds of arrows pierce through his wings and back, he hasn’t died as the sword of his brother tears his chest. he wouldn’t die from something like a stab wound.

“cor, no, no, no— stay with me, cor. cor? you promised, you promised you’d _stay_ —”

but cat’s screams set worry, guilt and panic aflame. cornelius tries to move, tries to reassure him, but his body fails him. he may be a deity, but even gods need to rest. in the midst of crying and hands shaking him, he does.

* * *

cornelius wakes underneath the softness of the earth. the dirt welcomes him for a moment, sending a warm feeling through his veins, but all he could feel is panic. he digs through the earth, begging for it to move, and it thankfully does. he clambers off, not even minding the lack of his mask or his dirty figure.

his mind buzzes with static. stumbling forward, he feels the signs the village created just for him and cat, for them to be able to easily maneuver around. he hears a gasp, and his head shoots up quickly, accepting the arms that helps him balance on unstable feet.

“where’s cat?” he asks hurriedly, out of breath, “where’s robin? are they okay? the murderer...”

he trails off, coming to a cold realization. the village had thought of him as dead. there were two people with him last night, and, and—

“where’s cat?” his voice turns high due to hysteria, and he shakes the arms of whoever is holding him. “where is he? where is _my husband_?”

( _can’t lose him can’t can’t can’t can’t_ )

“cornelius...” helga trails off, “i’m sorry.”

“ _where is he?_ ” he yells, breaking down into sobs. “ _where is he?_ ”

“cornelius,” someone whispers, but by then he throws off the hands reaching for him, taking a step back as tears drip from his eyes.

“you knew that he was my husband,” he chokes out, “you knew that we both loved each other. you knew that both of us would rather suffer through torture than willingly hurt one other. you knew, and you—”

“ _how could you_ ,” his voice breaks and he cries, falling to his knees. “ _how could you!_ ”

( _wil is gone cat is gone everyone is gone—_ )

( _alone alone alone_ )

the sky darkens. quietly, like a broken man mourning his lost beloved, it thunders and rains.

* * *

he shivers, huddling closer to himself as rain pelts down on his body. the trees curl into him, their branches too stiff to embrace and leaves too thin to shield. he doesn’t mind, though, letting their comforts wash over him, gradually soothing him into a trance.

one, two, three.

three centuries ago, he built a kingdom of peace. he led people into a solace, ruled over a land and swore to keep justice and fairness above anything else. three centuries ago, he received a sword to his back by the person he trusted the most— _brother, brother, will, i trusted you, we were family, weren’t we?_ — and saw the end of the peace he created.

three centuries ago, he sacrificed himself, his sight, for the mortals that he loved and cared for but all they did was betray and hurt and _oh god it hurts_ —

four, five, six.

six centuries further, when the world was still slumbering and mortals lived in harmony, he held a village in his arms and swore to protect them. he held mortals he considered his children, protected them from storms and droughts, and let them flourish and grow. he loved them— how could he not? they were his creations, the ones who called him their father, and as their father, he guided and shielded them.

but nothing ever ended well for him, hadn’t it? his children grew and burned down his forest, his home, and denounced him as their father. his children told them that they didn’t need him anymore.

but he still came back. he still loved them. he still gave himself to them.

he wished they could’ve done the same.

seven, eight—

eight is— was cat’s favorite number. it’s like infinity, the other proclaimed happily. he took twine and jewels and adorned them in both their hands, laughing and smiling as they built their house together. we’ll be a family, cat promised, as they took robin into their abode. we’ll always be there for each other.

we’ll always be there for each other.

( _lies lies lies you left me you abandoned me please come back i’ll do anything it hurts please please_ )

a choked scream rises from his throat. the angel screams, and the sky mourns for him. the angel cries, and the winds lash at him, trying to envelop him in their embrace. the angel sobs, screaming against the unfairness of the world— _why why why why why_ , he screams, _why_.

it was unfair. he had sacrificed himself for the world, he had been kind to them. cat was kind, too, with gentle touches and twinkling laughter. cat didn’t deserve this. cat didn’t deserve to die, over a human’s distrust and anxiety. cat didn’t deserve to die, just because a human needed a scapegoat, just because a human needed the illusion of doing something—

fucking mortals.

he— he—

( _hate hate hate revenge vengeance kill destroy hate_ )

* * *

the fifth and final lesson the angel learned is— hatred.

* * *

cold eyes watch as the village burns. they kill each other, in a mess of emotions and accusations. they distrust each other, finally showing their true colors.

they die, but it’s not enough.

he burns the village to the ground, leaving only ashes. it’s the last memoir left of the town that succumbed to madness; it’s the last memoir left of the town that took his heart away and crushed it to the ground.

it’s the last memoir of the town that destroyed the last hope he held for humanity.

* * *

two years later, nethilor burns. the kingdom, once flourishing, is left in a pile of debris and corpses.

a year later, its remains disappear, almost as if it never truly existed.

another year later, blockbeard’s crew dies in a storm.

twenty years later, the kingdom of asterin is wiped from memory.

fifty years later, the kingdom of peace is nothing but a legend.

something curls in his chest, something dark and sinister, and he lets it fester.

* * *

the angel ceases to be.

* * *

“dream,” wilbur greets, arms wide open in a mockery of a hug. “i want to be your vassal.”

there’s madness in the man’s eyes. there’s the sheer desire to destroy, to burn in them; there’s the desire to destroy those who ruined him.

( _like you like you like you_ )

dream tilts his head. he knows the feeling very well. his hand twinges, setting it atop a stack of tnt. he watches as tommy’s face go slack, melting into disbelief as he shouts at them both. his voice grows alarmingly louder as wilbur accepts the tnt graciously, a wicked grin painting his face.

there’s the loading of a crossbow, and in turn, dream unsheathes his sword. he steps in front of wilbur, his mind caught in a different place, in a different time. he can almost feel the sword piercing through his back, the hot tears that stain his clothes.

( _traitor traitor kill him kill him kill—_ )

there’s a shake in his voice.

“i’m sorry tommy, i’ll have to step in.”

the boy’s face grows slack again, his body slumping over. he can’t win against dream, that the three of them know. there’s shock and anger, a whole myriad of emotions that dream can’t understand. above all, there’s hate beginning to grow in tommy’s eyes, even as he puts the crossbow down.

dream feels it, feels how hate rises in his chest. he hates the world for being unfair; he hates schlatt for banishing both wilbur and tommy, for driving a man into madness. he hates wilbur for losing his grip on sanity, for letting himself fall into the pit of destruction and loathing.

( _destroy him chaos you want to destroy him monster he’s a monster you’re a monster_ )

he hates himself, too, for being helpless. for having power but not having the means to let humanity live in peace. he hates himself for believing, for always believing, for seeing the good in everything and everyone, even as his chest twists and constricts.

( _failure failure failure always a failure why can’t you do anything right—_ )

quietly, he sets the tnt down, and hopes that wilbur wouldn’t turn out the way he did.

( _hope is useless futile stop hoping_ )

( _you don’t learn you never learn_ **i will make you learn—** )

* * *

_george?_

then he’s eight and george is eleven, and they’re trying to escape from irate kitchen chefs hunting him down. they turn into a corner and hides behind a room, waiting with bated breath as the chefs disappear from sight. they break into small chuckles after, a pie in their hands, a sweet reward resulting from the chase.

no, no no— he’s twenty-one and george is twenty-four, and they’re standing in front of each other. george is screaming, yelling, tears running down his face. he wants to come closer, to embrace him, to ask him why and to stop those tears from falling, but, but— he’s frozen. he doesn’t move, he can’t move, why can’t he move?

that’s my best friend, that’s my brother so why—

“just tell me that you hate me!”

* * *

_sapnap?_

sapnap’s behind him, he realizes, and he reaches over to parry a wooden sword. they spar for a while, an exchange of blows and hits, and it all ends with a wooden sword pointed at the younger’s neck. sapnap whines, begrudgingly yielding. it’s four to seventeen now, they both know, and it’s not in sapnap’s favor.

then there’s a sword coming for him, and it’s sapnap— why are they fighting? why is sapnap crying? why is he screaming? they don’t spar, they don’t dance, it’s just a sword aiming to hurt and an axe aiming to defend. he wants to ask, but the other is screaming, red-rimmed eyes hiding behind a facade of anger.

angry? angry? why is sapnap— _brother brother brother brother_ — angry?

“i’m not your soldier anymore!”

* * *

_wilbur?_

tnt are exploding everywhere and everything is destroyed. there’s fire spreading and no no no no there can’t be a fire this was never supposed to happen—

at the height of it all, there stands wilbur and he’s crying, and there’s a sword through his chest and, and—

“kill me, phil!”

* * *

_tommy?_

tommy’s eyes are dull. why is he throwing his armor into a pit—

why is he afraid? why is he shying away?

what had he done? what is he doing, what is he—

“yes, dream.”

* * *

_punz sam eret tubbo puffy fundy bad ant skeppy_

_what is happening what is happening what is he doing_

_what’s wrong why are they angry sad angry why are they yelling why why why—_

_did i do something wrong what had i done wrong what am i doing_

_no no no no i’m not a monster i’m not a villain i care i love all of you i i i—_

n̶̤̺̦̹̫̝͐̏̎i̵͚͎͉̲̟͝g̷̻͔͊͋̈́̑̄͝h̶̢̗̝̰͚̼̀͗͊t̸͚͖͙̳̙̆̎̍̕m̵̞͍͂̑̏̍ą̴̥͓̈́͝ŕ̶̨̡͎̻̤̙͛̓͆̑́è̷̢̪̙͍̜̞̅̔̓̒̕ ̸̞̣̗͐̈́͐͂͆l̶̢̟͙̬̍́ẹ̶̢̛̖̹͓̦̀͆t̵̡̟͉̬̥͋̌ ̵͎͙̬͉͙̌̽̓̔ṁ̵̡͎͔͇̱̌̇̌̎̕ė̸̯̟ ̷̠͛ȏ̵̠̥ͅų̸̖͖͙̐͋t̵͖̥̹͆̈́́̆ ̸̡͇̪̩̞͉̒̽͋͋͗̔p̴̛̗̲͂̍͋̕l̸̗͍̝̮̏̊́͑̈́͐ͅe̸̫̞̾͑̿a̶̢̼̙͎͔̿ͅŝ̴͔̮͔̮̾̐ͅe̵̛̥̭̜̔̾͝

d̶̢̤̑̋̊͠o̴̘͌̊n̸̲͌’̴͖̩͓͙͆͊̈́ṯ̸̟̒́ ̶̭̲͔̅̃̆h̷̡̻͖̀̀͊͘û̷̈́͜r̶̫̹̥̠̋̅͘t̷̲̯̙̥͊͗̽̽ ̴̢̛̹͓͙́̏̂t̶̙̟͖͋h̵̻̠̀͠e̷̞͔͆m̴͈̪͕̃̈́͆͠ ̶̖͍͙̠́̌̏̆n̵̳̦̉ǫ̴̧̦́͠ ̶̢̟͒n̷̰͍̼̈ő̴͙̆ ̵̜͖̍̚n̶̲͐͆o̴̲̊͝ ̶̮̰̼͗ṅ̷̪͔͚̑ȏ̴̦

_please please please please—_

* * *

in his place is a broken man—

* * *

it’s dark around him. it’s cold too, the low temperature biting at his skin. he shivers, curling into himself as darkness stretched far and wide before him. the darkness is mocking, pitying, curling into himself in a pathetic mimicry of how the world once embraced him.

a clawed hand grasps his face, and he gapes as he sees his own—

“let me take control, darling.”

then he’s falling, falling, falling and _falling_ with no way out.

* * *

—who’s learned the extent of humanity’s cruelty.

* * *

not all fairy tales have happy endings.

and this story had never been a fairy tale at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally finished TAT  
> \+ should this have a sequel? idk

**Author's Note:**

> as evidenced by this fic, sleep deprivation does... stuff.


End file.
